


The Concession (Stand)

by chubbology



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, First Time, Getting Together, Light Weight Issues, M/M, Pining, Time Skips, Weight Gain, they cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubbology/pseuds/chubbology
Summary: Ferdinand keeps getting chubbier, and Hubert doesn’t know how to handle the uncomfortable fact that he’s into it. Really, really into it.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 22
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: expect nothing but pure wg kink indulgence. Because that's all this is. 7k of it.
> 
>   
> Also, this is a "school age" modern AU, so it can take place during high school or college, your preference.

It started with a group trip to the movies.

Edelgard, while arguably an introvert, was inarguably popular. Dorothea invited her to everything, because Dorothea, extroverted and popular, was invited to everything.

So Hubert, as Edelgard’s best friend, was invited to many things. Movie night was an exception to his general rule of declining outings by invitation. He didn’t mind tagging along to the theater to sit and be left alone for a couple hours. Or mostly left alone, depending who was sitting next to him.

Ferdinand—a member of their modest group—may not have talked during movies, but he was someone Hubert kept his distance from regardless. Their personalities clashed. They disagreed on everything. Ferdinand had too many tics that ticked Hubert off and he knew the feeling was mutual. The only thing they had in common at all it seemed was that they were both only invited because of their friends. Dorothea’s best friend was Petra, and Petra was close to Bernadetta, and Bernadetta clung to Ferdinand, who had served as her human shield since they were children.

Edelgard knew Hubert had no patience for Ferdinand, and so she also was sure to sit a ways away from him if possible when it came time for them all to file into the theater. That wasn’t always possible, though, especially when Ferdinand struck up a not entirely friendly conversation with Edelgard about one of her favorite movies, and their of them were willing to give up on the discussion even when it came time to file into seats. Which were few and far between this time, since it was a new blockbuster playing.

To Hubert’s annoyance, Ferdinand pointed out a cluster of three available seats—Bernadetta sitting with Petra and Dorothea—and proceeded to allow Edelgard to go first down the aisle and take the far seat, stick himself in the middle, and earnestly continue the conversation, holding his popcorn and candy.

Ferdinand always got popcorn and candy, unlike Dorothea, and was more than willing to share; Hubert felt affronted when he noticed how giddy Edelgard was to take up Ferdinand’s offer. Hubert used to ask if she wanted anything, but she always said no…

Hubert quickly refused when Ferdinand turned to him with the same offer.

Sitting next to Ferdinand didn’t turn out to be so bad. He didn’t talk during movies, and he got easily emotional which Hubert found kind of amusing. He also finished everything he bought to eat, which…was something. Every last bit of popcorn of the large he ordered, gone halfway through the movie. Hubert’s eyes strayed to Ferdinand again and again, seeing him chewing every time. Hubert unconsciously glanced down a bit.

Heat rushed to his face when he noticed that Ferdinand’s tummy sat out a little in his lap, plump and rounded out.

As everyone parted ways after the movie ended, Hubert caught one last glance at Ferdinand’s hips: once narrow, now plainly curved. And his thighs, too—Ferdinand’s thighs used to be thin, but now they looked tubby. When did Ferdinand get _tubby?_

Edelgard gave Hubert a dirty look as soon as they got in the car. “Thought you knew better than to judge someone for putting on weight.”

“What? I wasn’t.” Hubert inexplicably blushed again. “What are you talking about?”

Edelgard’s look changed, and Hubert glared into the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the parking space. He carefully ignored Edelgard’s gaze, and his gut twisted when she raised an eyebrow. Luckily, she didn’t say anything.

( . )

They all met up for a movie again after summer break two months later, since their schedules matched up easier during the school year. As usual, Bernie came with Ferdinand, but while Bernie looked more or less the same, her companion looked distinct different. Hubert couldn’t stop staring.

Ferdinand had gotten bigger than tubby over the summer.

Weight gain stood out on him like glow-in-the-dark neon: his pants appeared to be packed to their limit with thick thighs; his soft arms noticeably bulged out of short sleeves; his face was rounder than Hubert had ever seen it, cheeks naturally puffing out, the chub on his weaker jawline forming the beginnings of a second chin; even his breasts were more pronounced. Fuller. Everything about Ferdinand’s body was fuller. Filled up. Overstuffed. His waistline had clearly expanded, and his pudgy tummy had scaled up to a pudgy belly, supported by wider hips that stretched out a navy polo.

Ferdinand’s figure in general looked as if it had given up on proportions and bottomed out.

Hubert ignored the perceptive look Edelgard was sending his way. He felt overly aware of Ferdinand as they went inside, scanned their tickets, and got in line for concessions. Edelgard got caught up in conversation with friends as the cashier took Ferdinand’s order. Hubert was pathetic enough to steal constant glances at Ferdinand’s conspicuous muffin top and intensely chubby ass, but in doing so, he noticed when Ferdinand fumbled with his wallet, searching through it longer than necessary.

Before he could stop himself, Hubert was pulling out a few bills from his own pocket and handing them to the attendant without meeting anyone’s eyes. He didn’t even register what Ferdinand said to him, so shocked at his own whim. He did notice however when Ferdinand left the counter with a medium popcorn, rather than a large. Hubert thought that was a rather poor financial decision.

He ordered popcorn for himself for the first time. Since Edelgard had been dragged far ahead of the rest of them by Dorothea, it wasn’t all that strange really when Hubert happened to end up sitting next to Ferdinand again. Ferdinand drained the whole medium bag before the movie even hit the hour mark, and after an acceptable interim had passed, Hubert offered his own barely-touched popcorn. Ferdinand tried to reject him, but Hubert just pushed the bag into his lap, and soon Ferdinand was sheepishly eating that popcorn, too.

When the movie reached a climactic moment and its audience was enraptured, Hubert took the chance to look and confirm that Ferdinand’s belly did sit several inches farther into his lap than it had before, not merely plump and rounded out but weighty and lumpy with small rolls that looked primed to swell exponentially.

Hubert discovered as they left the theater that that Ferdinand’s excess had become…newly jello-y, too. As Ferdinand gave his unsolicited opinions about the film, Hubert caught sight of several belly jiggles, subtle but there.

In the car, Edelgard asked, “So how was sitting alone with Ferdinand? Sorry I ditched you for Dorothea. She insisted neither of you would mind.”

Hubert shrugged. “As long as he doesn’t talk, he’s fine.”

Edelgard was quiet for the rest of the ride, but she seemed to be waiting for Hubert to say something. Or for his expression to betray something. Hubert could only hope she didn’t know him well enough to read his mind, which had nothing on it but the profile of a boy whose annoying traits were starting to suffocate under his rising weight.

( . )

Hubert started having dreams. Dreams of going to empty matinees, just the two of them. Basking in Ferdinand’s tangible glee at having no audience to judge a stint unrestrained overindulgence. Overfed with Hubert’s help. Hubert dreamt of kneading Ferdinand’s belly—grown big enough to cover half his lap—easing the pain of a fervent stuffing. Hubert dreamt of being shameless enough to hike up Ferdinand’s shirt, revealing to the actors onscreen the shame of Ferdinand’s snowballing weight problem, full-grown belly rolls sitting atop bigger ones.

Sometimes he dreamt of Ferdinand trying to pull it down in his empty hand in embarrassment, only to give up the moment Hubert filled that hand with an unwrapped candy bar. Then, as Ferdinand double fisted his food, Hubert would force his belly to sway and jiggle, and Ferdinand would moan into his chocolate and take bigger bites.

Other times he dreamt Ferdinand would allow Hubert to take his shirt off entirely, flushing down to his neck, enjoying the exposure and knowing he deserved to be shamed for his true intentions in coming to the theater in the first place: to glut himself, with Hubert by his side to ensure he did to his heart’s content.


	2. Chapter 2

The trips to the movies continued. Ferdinand did not slim down. Though Hubert could guess from Ferdinand’s subdued ego that at least a little bullying was probably going on, Ferdinand only grew heavier as the school year went by. He grew slowly, which reminded Hubert of the ticks on a volume dial. No noticeable change with just one slight turn, but when the ticks of the dial added up, raising the music louder and louder…

Hubert liked to imagine what was causing Ferdinand’s weight to tick up and up: A few boxes of marked-down holiday goodies, maybe. Tick. A weekend of lonely binging. Tick tick. Months of frequent soda drinking. Tick, _tick, tick tick tick_. Another size bigger.

If there had been any doubt before, by winter break there was none: anyone could determine from a glance that Ferdinand was well overweight. Including Ferdinand it seemed. He started buying only a small popcorn for the theater, if that, but his glumness over this sacrifice was clear.

One night, Hubert bought a box for Ferdinand on the grounds that he didn’t want to suffer Ferdinand’s sulking the whole movie. When they took their seats and Ferdinand started eating one or two kernels at a time to savor the lone popcorn he had, Hubert handed over the box.

“Oh. Thank you, but I—I’m trying to—” Ferdinand stammered, but Hubert interrupted.

“Then save it for later.”

Ferdinand shut his mouth and took the box shoved into his softened hands. _I_ _can’t_ , said his pleading eyes. _I can’t just not eat it._

Hubert pretended not to notice his internal struggle, and neither of them spoke again before the movie began.

Ferdinand swiftly finished his popcorn but didn’t touch the candy. He sucked down his sugary soda quick, too, which Hubert had half a mind to tell him was the real problem, but the other half of Hubert’s mind wanted Ferdinand’s second chin to stop thickening in and out of existence and just stay put already. Another five or ten pounds would probably fix that. Another five or ten pounds would push him into yet a bigger pants size by the looks of it, but what did that matter at this point?

Halfway through the movie, Ferdinand got twitchy. Hubert could sense his struggle not to indulge any more. He could sense that struggle mounting. So Hubert took the box away, allowing Ferdinand a moment of relief, before opening the thin cardboard and handing it back, ready to be devoured.

Ferdinand looked at the open box, then at Hubert, confused but yearning. Hubert turned away like he had done nothing at all, but a minute later he was fighting down a smirk as Ferdinand started feeding himself like a good chubby boy. There was an air of defeat in every bend of his round, padded arm.

Hubert told himself he didn’t feel bad because he hadn’t _forced_ Ferdinand to do anything. Nevertheless, he walked out of the theater beside Ferdinand as nonchalantly as he could and asked, “So did you like the movie?”

Judging from Ferdinand’s response—a moment of bewilderment, then great enthusiasm—it was the right thing to do.

( . )

For better and worse, Ferdinand considered them as friends after that night.

They texted some. No big deal. It would have been a pain to ignore Ferdinand’s attempts to communicate and then have to deal with some sad pout the next time everyone got together.

The texted some, and one day Ferdinand offered to show Hubert his father’s weapon collection. Which Hubert couldn’t say no to, because it was apparently a very impressive weapon collection and he had to see whether or not Ferdinand was just hyping it up.

But it didn’t disappoint, and neither did the dinner Ferdinand’s mom cooked for them, which Hubert felt thoroughly strong-armed into accepting. At least Ferdinand’s parents were cool enough to let them take dinner into Ferdinand’s room, which was less…whatever Hubert had been expecting. It had personality, showing off Ferdinand’s variety of interests categorizable as inane, academic, or inanely academic. Hubert didn’t both being too observant or asking a lot of questions, though; he didn’t have to since Ferdinand could carry one-sided conversations about any given thing indefinitely. He could eat as he did so, too. When he finished his dinner, he retrieved snacks from all sorts of odd places in his room and continued filling himself as he explained the origin of every poster and cataloged the quality of all his video games until Hubert was done finishing his dinner as well. Hubert ate deliberately slowly, but Ferdinand didn’t seem to mind at all.

Ferdinand stooped to get something, and Hubert outright checked him out, appreciating how round he looked kneeling and hunched over. Then he looked away, struck with the disturbing sense that he was being that guy who thought about nothing but the girl’s body the entire time they hung out.

But instead of perky tits and a narrow waist, Hubert fixated on Ferdinand’s cherubic face and large, _large_ ass.

Fixated harder on the few photographs scattered around the room that featured Ferdinand when he was thin. The difference—between that sharp-jawed, athletic-looking boy and the double-chinned, winded-from-the-stairs boy beside him—was breathtaking. What did his parents think? Hubert kind of wanted to know. Were they at all concerned that their son put on so much unhealthy weight so quickly? Were they ever embarrassed that his underbelly sometimes drooped like thick putty out of his extra large shirts when he stretched for something? Or were they the kind who let him make his own choices and supported him no matter what?

Hubert put it out of his mind as none of his business, although Ferdinand’s own feelings about his weight were harder to disregard.

He noticed several things, visiting Ferdinand’s house that first time. He noticed that Ferdinand didn’t seem anxiously resigned about the amount he was consuming, but eagerly careless—just a little bit ashamed, considering the pink cheeks and eye-avoiding whenever he paused his monologging to compulsively unwrap and eat another Little Debbie creme pie while Hubert failed more often than not to fill the silence.

Hubert noticed Ferdinand was outgrowing his clothes again. He noticed as Ferdinand moved about his room, showing things off and gesturing in the air while he aired his opinions, that his heavy thighs produced little tremors, and the blubber encasing his arms often shook: Ferdinand whole body had become like jello. Even his chubby breasts quivered a bit at times, and when Hubert had the pleasure of seeing Ferdinand’s ass, firmly pressed as it was against sweatpants that already hugged his his hips and thighs too tight, he could see how it had swollen so ample it wobbled even despite its confines.

Hubert didn’t have a bad time hanging out with Ferdinand. It was gratifying to see him genuinely happy and in his element. But Hubert could not deny that his mind had been inundated with two recurring thoughts all the while:

Ferdinand got fat.

He was getting even fatter.


	3. Chapter 3

A full year later, by the time Hubert took Ferdinand out for their fifth or sixth sort-of-actually-a-date, Ferdinand no longer fit into the compact theatre seats.

He had stopped fitting comfortably ages ago, but not fitting at all was different. He did his best, of course. Next to Hubert, he pushed himself into the seat with admirable dignity, both arm rests cutting hard into the sides of his thighs. Then he did some awkward shifting so his ass didn’t bulge out so generously behind him. And to Ferdinand’s annoyance, with how far out his girth had compounded he actually had to use the armrests for their intended purpose. Assuming he wasn’t willing to hold his belly outright as he fed himself all the junk food Hubert had waiting for him in his own lap.

He looked so uncomfortable all through the trailers, Hubert asked if he was okay. Ferdinand wouldn’t meet his eyes, but eventually he whispered, “I’m too big.”

So Hubert raised up the armrest between them, and with a relieved swell, fat thigh and fatter hip pressed against him. Ferdinand turned a tomato red, but Hubert just smirked at him and said this had to be more comfortable, right?

Ferdinand muttered a dejected, but grinning, _yes_.

The movie commenced, and Hubert’s smugness vanished when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the smallest rip in the seam that sloped across the curve of Ferdinand’s left thigh. He blinked and tried to pay attention to the movie.

Ferdinand quickly settled into his usual momentous cycle of chewing and swallowing and filling his mouth again, breaking only to sip his jumbo soda. It was at times like these that Hubert could tell just how little drive Ferdinand had in him to change his eating habits to any significant degree. It seemed overconsuming had simply become part of life to him; it was as if, in Ferdinand’s eyes, no more remarkable than taking a vitamin or walking a dog was hitting the bottom of an ice cream pint.

Hubert was glad Ferdinand felt comfortable enough to eat like this in front of him, but he had to wonder: did Ferdinand still not understand how Hubert felt seeing it? Did he think Hubert just didn’t care? Because he cared. He cared a lot that Ferdinand used to be thin and wasn’t anymore. He cared that Ferdinand hadn’t just let himself go—he’d let himself fall full-tilt into plus sizes. Hubert cared very much that Ferdinand was too big now to fit in certain seats.

But how could he make it obvious that he cared?

Ferdinand uncomfortably adjusted himself later in the movie, sounding a bit exerted from eating so much so quickly. The up-and-down adjusting caused the rip in Ferdinand’s pants to split a little longer. Hubert’s eyes stuck to it like a magnet. Maybe this was an opportunity.

He moved his hand and swept the pad of his finger over the opening. The little patch of skin was cool to the touch. A couple more threads came apart. Heart beating, Hubert risked a glance up at Ferdinand’s face.

Ferdinand was staring straight ahead, lips pursed, clearly stiffer and too still. Hubert swallowed his disappointment and pulled away. It could also be that he’d gotten this whole thing of theirs wrong; despite all the signs of having a crush, Ferdinand may not be attracted to him at all. Hubert wasn’t especially handsome, and his awkward all-black phase had only recently ended.

But then Ferdinand reached over and took Hubert’s wrist, still watching the screen. Hubert let his hand be placed on the part of Ferdinand’s thigh that wasn’t occupied by belly. He kept it there. Just casually touching his—well, the guy he was dating. They’d never used the word “date,” but they were dates. Hubert got too nervous when he asked if Ferdinand wanted to go somewhere and Ferdinand got too flustered when he accepted.

Whatever they were doing, it had been tentative and slow. Touching was new, but now that Hubert was doing it, it felt surprisingly natural.

He relaxed his palm and let it slide inward a little. There was a lot of thigh to cover, after all. Then Hubert leaned to the right and let himself press more flush with Ferdinand’s soft side. Ferdinand didn’t lean away.

The closeness, along with a few nonchalant strokes, filled Hubert with a sense of rightness. Ferdinand deserved intimacy, too; if there was any chance Ferdinand felt his body’s transformation from thin and fit to exceptionally heavy had ruined his chances of attracting someone, Hubert would take it upon himself to destroy any doubt.

When they later stepped out into the night air, Ferdinand moved closer and held Hubert’s arm as they made their way across the sleepy parking lot. Hubert’s body welled with entirely too much anticipation.

Hubert got in his car first, and Ferdinand made the car dip as usual as his body fit snug in the limited space of the passenger side. His arms—round and blubbery as a baby’s now, and somehow no less endearing—jiggled a fair amount as Ferdinand struggled to pull the seatbelt all the way around himself. Perhaps because of nerves, he kept jerking too hard or not hard enough, and it created the illusion of…well, being unable to surmount his own size.

When Ferdinand started grumbling in embarrassment, Hubert turned and quieted him by pulling the buckle and strap from his grip. More calmly, Hubert pulled. Not wanting the strap to rake uncomfortably over Ferdinand’s gut, however, and desperately wanting to have an excuse to touch it, Hubert lightly tapped on the lower portion of Ferdinand’s belly and said softly, “Suck in a little.”

Ferdinand did, and Hubert pulled the strap further and clicked in the buckle. Incident resolved. The ride back was silent for a while before they started talking about the movie. What they could remember of it, in any case.

“Did the girlfriend actually break up with him, or did she end up mysteriously disappearing like the others?” Ferdinand asked.

Hubert thought about it—the main relationship. The main guy had been a loser in Hubert’s opinion—not an asshole, but no less a slave to his desires, always looking so stupidly overwhelmed by a shapely woman in a uniform.

Ferdinand’s belly bounced every time they rode over the slightest hiccup in the road, and Hubert felt very stupidly overwhelmed.

Worse, Ferdinand kept his arms pressed against himself in such a way that made Hubert think he was trying to subtly, hopelessly, prevent the bouncing. Ferdinand had said it himself: he was too big. Too gluttonous to control his eating, and so, too glutted with jello-y fat control the movement of his body.

Hubert felt fond.

“I have no idea,” he said.

Ferdinand spoke again after a while, as they entered Ferdinand’s neighborhood. “Thank you for taking me.”

Hubert only nodded, afraid of what he might say if he opened his mouth. He pulled up into Ferdinand’s driveway and noticed all the lights were off, even though both of Ferdinand’s parents usually stayed up pretty late. “You’re alone?” he blurted.

Ferdinand unbuckled. “Yeah, my parents are out of town and my sisters are staying with friends all weekend.”

Hubert nodded again. Ferdinand didn’t get out. “Do you…want to hang out a bit? Or do you have to get home?”

Hubert shrugged as casually as he could. “I don’t have to be anywhere.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Quicker than either probably intended to be, Hubert and Ferdinand got out and moved to the front door. Ferdinand pulled out his keys and turned the lock while Hubert stared at his ass. _Enormous_ , was all his mind supplied.

Ferdinand’s hips were no joke either; they weren’t as wide as the door, but they were getting there. What made Hubert’s mouth water though was how they sagged so very weakly over either side of his waistband. Also, Ferdinand’s snug shirt made it known that his back rolls had thickened enough to sag, too. Ferdinand pushed the door open.

They took off their shoes and padded up in silence to his bedroom. Ferdinand, gaze strictly averted from Hubert, heaved a big sigh and sat on his edge of his bed. Typically, this would be when he would start talking about something innocuous, or challenge Hubert to a video game, or tug on his clothes, his nonverbal tell that he was having cravings.

Now, Ferdinand only looked down at the tear in his pants and picked at it. Hubert watched, closing the door behind himself.

“I liked these pants,” Ferdinand said, absently pushing a finger inside.

Hubert cleared his throat a bit. “Easy enough to fix.”

“I guess. The seam will probably just rip somewhere else, though.”

Hubert couldn’t make out Ferdinand’s odd expression. Before he could ask what was wrong, Ferdinand lifted his weight from the mattress and then let it drop down again with a spring-squeaking _fump_ that nearly drowned out the sound of fabric ripping. The little tear gaped open several inches, pale thigh urgently puffing out.

Ferdinand huffed, his grin humorless. “See, it’s too easy. Oh well. These were suffocating me anyway.” He stood and moved to his dresser, pulling out a drawer. He stare listlessly at its contents.

“Hey,” Hubert murmured, taking a step forward. Ferdinand didn’t react. “Do you want me to leave?”

Ferdinand spun around, shock written all over his face.

“I mean so you can change,” Hubert added quickly.

“Oh. That’s okay.” Ferdinand shifted from foot to foot and scratched at his shirt. Even a light scratch made his fingers sink well into the fat of his breast. “Actually, sure. No—I don’t care. You don’t have to.” He turned around again and pulled open a different drawer, the one Hubert knew held most of his sweatpants. The ones that still fit him. There were a couple patterned pairs that Hubert remembered Ferdinand wearing relatively often when he came over, pairs that had since been forced out of the rotation and likely relegated to some high shelf in the closet, collecting dust as Ferdinand only gained _more_ weight and added more clothes to the world famous I’ll-wear-it-again-someday, I’m-just-a-little-fat-right-now pile. Except Ferdinand’s pile might be better titled, My-fat-clothes-I-got-too-fat-for.

Hubert stared at the carpet as Ferdinand pulled out a pair. He wanted to watch him change, of course; he had a feeling Ferdinand wanted to watch him change, too. But he didn’t.

“Turn on the tv,” Ferdinand said. “I want to finish that level you couldn’t.”

Hubert scoffed. “Okay, sure.”

( . )

Ferdinand had only been playing for half an hour, Hubert lounged close beside him on the bed, when he started fidgeting and tugging on his clothes. Hubert sat up too quickly.

“Want me to get something from downstairs?”

Ferdinand blinked owlishly at him, then formed an embarrassed grin. “I’m fine.”

Hubert already had an image in his head, though, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try to see it come to life. “I’m getting something. At least for myself.”

“Hubert—”

He was out of the room and downstairs in no time, pulling open the pantry door. Only then did he realized—he had never taken a close look inside before. “Christ,” he breathed. No _wonder._ No wonder Ferdinand had ballooned almost beyond recognition. No wonder his walk was more of a waddle every time Hubert saw him.

Cookies, sweet rolls, cheesy crackers. Jumbo snack packs and halloween-size bags of candy. Old-fashioned donut sticks and prepackaged brownies and other mass-produced pastry brands that Hubert felt fatter just looking at. Jars of hazelnut butter, huge bags of nutritionless chips. Brightly colored cereals that were clearly solid sugar. Several kinds of muffins and breakfast pastries, but not a fruit to be seen. Packs and packs of double-stuffed Oreos.

Hubert hadn’t even checked the fridge. Not the freezer.

Oh Ferdinand.

Maybe his parents were more hands-off than Hubert would have ever dreamed. Hubert smothered the urge to silently thank them and instead inhaled, exhaled, and pulled out a package of soft chocolate chunk cookies.

Upstairs, he found Ferdinand absorbed in the game they’d been playing on and off the past month or so, expression intent. Hubert returned next to him on the bed, peeling open the top flap. The package was still mostly full. Hubert ate one. Ferdinand took his eyes off the game only for a second.

“Want one?” Hubert asked.

Ferdinand made a frustrated sound. “I had too much at the movies…”

“So?” Hubert ate another cookie and held up a third, closer to Ferdinand. In a lower voice he asked, “Who cares? We haven’t hung out in a while, so it’s a special occasion.”

Ferdinand’s defenses fell apart rapidly. Every time he glanced from the cookies to the screen and back again, he looked more needy. “It won’t let me pause right now.”

Hubert smirked. “No problem.”

He held the sweet closer and closer to Ferdinand’s lower lip. Ferdinand’s gaze flicked to it, surprised, then _wanting_ , and bit onto the cookie. His eyelids droop in pleasure as he chewed and played.

“Good?” Hubert asked, voice even lower. Never had Ferdinand’s bedroom felt this intimate: dark, save for the glowing screen; tv not so loud that Ferdinand’s affected breathing wasn’t audible after he swallowed; Hubert’s proximity. Like the theater, except now it was finally just them.

Ferdinand nodded, second chin bobbing. A few seconds later, Hubert fed him again, and Ferdinand didn’t hesitate this time. His hands seemed to hold the controller a little looser as he enjoyed every crumb and swallowed again. “These are my favorite.”

“I like them, too,” Hubert said, and the third time he reached forward, he let his thumb brush against Ferdinand’s lips.

Ferdinand abruptly pulled one hand off the controller to make sure the cookie didn’t fall out of his shocked mouth. Their eyes met.

 _Game Over,_ the screen said.

Ferdinand’s shoulders sagged a the message. His belly must have been tensed from playing, too because now it relaxed a couple more inches into his lap, causing his shirt to ride up. Hubert reached to pull it back down, but Ferdinand sucked in and finished the job. Hubert glanced up at his face and held back his amusement. He never got enough of Ferdinand’s blushes.

“Are you going to try again?” Hubert asked. “Or have you given up already?”

“No!” Ferdinand grinned and began to play again.

Feeling more bold, and admittedly a little needy himself, Hubert started to feed Ferdinand again while teasing his game performance, allowing him shorter gaps inbetween mouthfuls. Soon the package was more than half empty, and Ferdinand’s stomach gurgled loudly. Ferdinand paid it no mind the first time. A minute later, though, it made another sound, and Ferdinand squirmed.

Hubert mumbled a half-hearted apology, deciding to test his luck by rubbing the side of Ferdinand’s belly. The fat quivered it tensed so fast. Ferdinand blinked two too many times and shrugged at Hubert’s questioning look, mumbling _,_ “Um, yeah. Thanks.”

Hubert lost all track of how Ferdinand was doing on the level as his attention narrowed to how Ferdinand’s impossibly soft bellyfat gave in and moulded under his hand. Hubert had no idea if he was rubbing in any useful manner at all, but the gurgling sounds stopped and Ferdinand shyly asked if there was any more cookies left.

Even when the screen darkened with the game over message a second time, Hubert didn’t stop his impromptu massage. If anything, he got a little more into it, and Ferdinand closed his eyes, eyebrows pressing in with suppressed pleasure as his controller slipped down onto the mattress.

“You’re good at this,” he said.

Hubert hummed. “You should lay back.”

Clumsily, Ferdinand did, keeping his eyes closed. Looking down from above, Hubert was presented with Ferdinand at his very widest, belly and thighs copiously spread under the force of gravity, breasts lolled some to either side like a woman’s might, although the shape wasn’t the same and flesh didn’t move as freely. Ferdinand’s entire jawline, ear to ear, was cradled by a plump U of fat. Hubert bit the inside of his mouth and touched himself briefly before turning his attention back to rubbing away any lingering disturbance in Ferdinand’s stomach.

The low music from the tv and their breathing were the only things to temper the silence. Hubert let his shabby pretense of pure intentions fall away as he began to grope Ferdinand’s fat more than rub it. His body heated up as Ferdinand appeared more and more pleasured. Soon his black bangs stick a little to his face. This was more than he’d done with anyone. Hubert hadn’t even known he could be so tempted by anyone at all.

As his greedy hand roamed up closer to his chest, Ferdinand’s nipples hardened under his shirt. His pants began to tent. As soon as Ferdinand realized this, his eyes snapped open and he twitched to sit up, but Hubert smoothly straddled him so it became plenty obvious how Hubert also felt.

His one, visible green eye bored into Ferdinand’s warmer, amber ones. “Want me to stop?”

Ferdinand shook his head minutely, breaths more labored, likely from the novelty of it all. But Hubert fared no differently. When he leaned forward and used both hands to cup flabby breasts, his own eyes fell shut. The stretched shirt material, although annoying for being there, didn’t take too much from the bliss of squeezing the softness underneath, again and again, then pushing the mounds together, smooshing them until a straight line creased inbetween, and Hubert got harder from the sudden vision of Ferdinand gaining so much weight his chest had no choice but to grow embarrassingly fat tits.

Ferdinand’s hips rose to grind against him, and Hubert pressed his own down in turn. When Ferdinand blinked blearily and tugged on his arm, Hubert leaned down more until Ferdinand could reach Hubert’s head and guide it to his chest.

Hubert couldn’t quite hold back his breath turned moan, pressing his face against the crease he’d created. Shirt fabric pushed against his cheeks, intoxicatingly plump pressure behind it. Ferdinand pulled up one big leg in his squirming arousal and Hubert was nudged forward, but he had no trouble grinding against belly instead. The fact that it tensed with pleasure changed little; there was so much flab squished between Ferdinand’s muscle and Hubert’s skin, it was like grinding against the warmest, plushest pillow—the softest, most malleable sack of dough—

Hubert had more important things to do than speak: like lift his face to Ferdinand’s sweaty neck and suck at the chub that clung there; like blindly seek out Ferdinand’s upper arm and sink his fingers into the fat stored on the underside, the most tenderly weak flesh possibly of all; like spread his own thighs a little wider over Ferdinand hips in an attempt to get both his knees to touch the mattress. But even if he could have cleared the wide hips, Ferdinand’s huge ass made Hubert’s goal ultimately impossible. Hubert’s failure deeply satisfied him.

Ferdinand did speak a little. Only in whispers, though, and only because seemed unable not to stay silent. Breathless _Hubert_ s, and weak _oh my god_ s, and sometimes a nearly inaudible _yes, yes_. Hubert ground deeper into belly, looking for more friction, but fat felt bottomless and so he gave up to shove a hand down his pants and roughly finish himself off, all the while grinding his ass over Ferdinand’s bulge.

It was Ferdinand’s final harsh breath, his thighs tensing and his hold on Hubert’s arms becoming a vice grip, that pushed Hubert over the edge.

Then they just panted. And panted. Hubert didn’t want to move. He felt irrationally attached to how soft Ferdinand’s body felt between his thighs, how the sheer width made them ache a little, stretched in such an open straddle. Hubert liked resting his face on Ferdinand’s chest, nose buried in plumpness.

But maybe Hubert was too heavy himself; he was no diminutive guy. When he tried to rise, though, Ferdinand started, clutching and making a sound almost like a whine. So, they stayed put.


	4. Chapter 4

Hubert stood at the door of their apartment with crossed arms.

Slowly, guiltily, Ferdinand turned around, doughnut powder on his lips. “I didn’t think you’d be back until late.”

Hubert took stock of the situation: a box of a dozen doughnuts on the counter, almost half gone, Ferdinand’s work pants unbuttoned, maroon sweater not fully hiding a sagging underbelly.

He got stuck on the unbuttoned pants. Unbuttoned _. Unbuttoned,_ even as a what? A size forty six? Forty eight?

“What’s this,” Hubert said.

“Just a little splurge! Just one. My day sucked.”

Hubert sighed in the face of puppy dog eyes and approached as Ferdinand hurriedly re-buttoned his pants. “A doughnut is a little splurge. A dozen is not that. You—”

“I know, I know.” Ferdinand closed the box and shoved it back on the counter. “I know. I have to stop. I want to stop.”

Hubert said nothing at first. Ferdinand wasn’t right, exactly, but it was best for his health if they agreed he was right.

Right? “No you don’t,” Hubert said. “But you do have to _want_ to want to stop.”

Ferdinand averted his eyes. “What does that even mean?”

Hubert looked over him again. Ferdinand was a big man. Big as in heavy, that is. Very heavy. In the years since becoming official, Ferdinand grew a few inches taller, but far more than a few inches wider. His doctor had recently recommended again, more adamantly than ever, that he improve his diet. So there was no unhealthy food in the house. In theory.

Hubert pulled the box toward himself and opened it again. Ferdinand watched him eat one of the doughnuts in clean, efficient bites. Hubert could feel eyes looking over _his_ body and fought down a blush. He had chubbed out a little himself since they’d moved in together. Just by fifteen, twenty pounds. Maybe twenty five. Thirty tops. Whatever the number, Hubert had been forced to start his own A-little-too-fat-right-now pile in the bedroom closet.

It was hard not to get at least a little chubby, living with someone with an appetite and diet like Ferdinand’s. So Hubert told himself, anyway.

Hubert ate another doughnut. Ferdinand did, too.

“Finish these before I do,” Hubert said, shoving the box over.

Ferdinand gave him a perfectly cheshire grin. “Can do.” He leaned his back against the counter and ate another, then another, content as someone could be eating doughnuts. Content until he got to the second to last one and looked a bit queasy. Hubert re-undid his pants button, purely out of kindness and not at all to feel a surge of belly against the backs of his hands.

“You really don’t care, do you?” Hubert asked.

Ferdinand picked up the final doughnut. “I want to. Want to want to, as you say.” Chewed a bite. “No, wait. I want to want to want to lose weight—but I don’t. I’m still trying to anyway, though. I’ve been following the rule pretty okay until now!”

“That hardly matters if you pig out whenever you’re _not_ home.” Hubert shook his head. “You say you’ll try to lose weight, and then you outgrow your pants again. Ferdinand, what size even are these?”

“Maybe I’m wearing a size smaller than usual.”

Hubert gave him a deadpan look. Ferdinand mumbled something.

“What?”

“Fifty two.”

“Fif—” Hubert cut himself off, blood running hot in is veins.

“Fifty two,” Ferdinand said again, annoyed as if the very concept of pant sizes irritated him. “What does it matter if I’m fifty two or fifty four?”

“It matters,” Hubert said. “Fifty four is for men who are…who are pushing two-eighty. Two ninety. Three hundred, even.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“What did the doctor say you weighed?”

“She didn’t say, and I didn’t look.”

“Well, I got us a scale. You might as well use it.” Hubert sure as hell had been using it.

Ferdinand sighed, dramatically in that way he did to cover up truer emotions. Hubert put a hand on his shoulder and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Come on. Maybe it will motivate you.” He wrapped his hand around Ferdinand’s upper arm—most of his upper arm, that is—and tugged him.

“I don’t need to check,” Ferdinand insisted. “I know I’m really fat. Alright?”

Hubert’s feet stuttered, and Ferdinand kept talking as he let himself be pulled down the hall. His voice took on a teasing edge. “I gained a ton of weight in school, graduated completely obese,” pulled into the bedroom, “got even bigger living with you, so now I’m pushing size fifty billion,” pulled into the bathroom, “and it’s not good for me, I _know_. I don’t need exact measurements.”

Hubert whipped around, feeling too warm. “Would you stop?”

Ferdinand was smiling again. He wrapped—caged—his arms around Hubert’s shoulders and in a lower voice said, “No way. It’s too fun turning you on.”

“I’m trying to—”

“It’s so easy. It’s always been easy. It became my pastime, you know, turning you on without being obvious about it. Eating in front of you.” He smiled wide. “You couldn’t ever keep your eyes away. Kept finding ways to enable me. The validation was almost as delicious as the food.”

“Stop stalling.”

“Really, that first time you sat next to me at the movies—it was the end for me.”

Hubert shut his mouth. “What?”

“You don’t remember?” Ferdinand pouted a little. “It was the first movie night we both showed up to in a while. My parents had been separated for a couple months by then, and I’d gotten pretty tubby from all the junk food dad kept in the house without Mom there.”

Hubert only stared at him.

“You don’t remember ogling me all the way out of the theater? It was that super crappy kidnapping movie. I remember, because you weren’t ogling in a bad way like some of my classmates. It was more like…” Ferdinand looked thoughtful. “More like the look of a dork who notices how pretty a girl is for the first time. Dazed and confused.”

He smiled again at Hubert’s flat look.

“Sorry, it’s the truth. And that whole summer, all I could think about was whether you secretly thought I was cute, and if you might be a chubby ch—”

“Shut _up_.” Hubert tried to push away and cover his mouth, but Ferdinand wasn’t having it, and his bulk was a strong force in and of itself. He backed Hubert against the sink.

“I ate like shit that whole summer as I imagined what your face would look like if you saw me again and I was even—”

“I _get_ it,” Hubert hissed, face burning.

“I imagined you sitting next to me again, sideye-ing me the whole movie, wishing you could touch. Which I would let you do all you wanted while I ate.” Ferdinand drew in a breath. He seemed affected now, too, less tease in his voice. “Sometimes I would stuff myself so bad laying around in my room just imagining these things. I was already so lonely and horny all the time, and no one was ever around to stop me. I gained weight like it was my summer job.”

It wasn’t fair. Ferdinand knew Hubert too well. “But lo and behold, next time you saw me…” Ferdinand huffed and finally pulled back. “You should have seen your face. It was everything I’d hoped and dreamed. And then you _did_ sit next to me again _—_ I was really going through it. Tried to be cool, though.”

Hubert couldn’t keep back his grin at Ferdinand’s enthusiasm. “I had no idea.”

“I know.” Ferdinand patted his cheek. “I could tell you were going through it, too.”

Then he pressed his lips to the corner of Hubert’s. Hubert kissed back, straightening up automatically and kissing deeper. They stood like that for a while, sating the tension between them, losing themselves in so much fondness.

Eventually, the moment ended. Eventually, Hubert had to ask.

“Why don’t you want to use the scale?”

“Because,” Ferdinand answered simply. “I’m scared.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never…” He sighed. “My parents never had a scale, so I’ve never used one. I’m worried if I look once, I’ll look again and again until my whole life becomes a number.” He met Hubert’s eyes. “I don’t want that to happen to me like it does to other people. I’m happy.”

Hubert reached up and brushed his hand over Ferdinand’s soft face. “Me too.”

“You nagging me is enough.”

Hubert nodded once. “Then no scale. But no bringing home a dozen doughnuts, either. If only for my sake. Clearly, I can control myself about as well as you these days.”

Ferdinand grinned and poked Hubert’s tummy. “Deal.”

( - )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my bros, I had a Good Time writing this


End file.
